


M Street Northwest

by kototyph



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Cheerfully Unapologetic Smutlet, Grumpy Adam, Inexperienced Michael, M/M, Morning Sex, The Walk of Shame: Now With Nuns!, implied drunk sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:11:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kototyph/pseuds/kototyph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For <a href="http://midamweek.tumblr.com/">Midam Week</a> on tumblr. Adam is a med student at Georgetown. Michael is a senator. Together they have drunken hookups and surprisingly solid morning-after sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	M Street Northwest

It’s already seven in the morning and the sleeping body next to him is showing no signs of stirring. Adam, who’s been drifting in and out of consciousness since six, bites back an annoyed sigh and finally turns over, the heavy weight of the man’s arm shifting to his back.

“Hey,” he says, and winces at the rasp in his throat. “Dude. Time to wake up.”

Nothing.

" _Hey."_

“Mmhm,” his bedmate says agreeably, without opening his eyes.

“C’mon, wakey wakey.” Crap, what was the guy’s name again? Mitchell? Mark? " No more sleeping. Rise and shine."

“Move the meeting to ten, Hester,” the man grumbles, and tries to drag him closer. Adam braces himself with a hand on that perfectly sculpted chest and taps an equally perfect cheekbone sharply.

“Do I look like a fucking Hester to you? I have class in half an hour and there’s no way I’m living this down if my housemates see you. Get up.”

The man twitches away from his finger and his eyes open, a crazy-vivid blue Adam remembers admiring last night, sometime after leaving the bar stumbling-drunk and making out pressed to the side of some stranger’s car. Those eyes take a while to focus on Adam’s face, but when they do, the man smiles slow and sweet. “Good morning.”

“Yeah, sure, good morning. Listen—” Matthew? Marcus? “—I’m sure you’ve got work or something you need to be doing— no, _not that,_ ” he says as the man nuzzles into his neck. “If you wanted round two you should have woken up earli— _nngh_ , stop!”

The man eases back from teasing at a tender spot with his mouth, hand stroking up Adam’s side to gently cup his cheek, still smiling. “What about breakfast, then?”

Adam scowls. “I’m not making you breakfast!”

“I meant,” the man says, smile broadening, “can I take you to breakfast?”

“No,” Adam says flatly. “But you can put your clothes on and get out of my room.”

The man actually looks a little hurt, and Adam relents enough to say, “Look, you’re great in the sack and not hard to look at but I’ve got to get going, and do you really want to do a walk of shame across campus with the coeds laughing and the nuns giving you the stinkeye?”

“... not especially, no,” the man says, sounding bemused.

“Well, then.” Adam kneels up naked on the mattress, sitting back on his heels and looking around at the room. “Your shirt is on floor over there. That’s a good place to start.”

“If you’re sure,” the man murmurs, just as his hand curls slyly around Adam’s mostly-soft dick.

“Shit!” Adam yips, and then groans, “ _Bastard_ ,” as a hot, wet mouth follows, the man arranging himself between Adam’s thighs with hands gripping his hips. “You motherfucking bastard.”

A slow slurp and a narrowed, pleased flash of blue are the only things that answer him, and Adam’s fingers scrabble for whatever purchase they can get in the man’s short hair as he takes Adam deeper.

The guy is honestly not very good at this, or maybe Adam should say not very _practiced_ ; that was one of the things he’d noticed most last night, through the haze of alcohol and the thrill of a hot, easy hookup. Dude has to be at least thirty-five (and he looks kind of like _Dad;_ what that says about Adam’s taste in men really doesn’t bear thinking about) but he sucks at Adam like an eager teenager-- clumsy, just this side of too hard, not enough tongue, too many teeth.

“Whoa there, Mike,” and yeah, that’s it, it’s Michael. Michael something. Adam’s thumbs stroke the corners of Michael’s mouth, spit-slick and stretched tight around him, and the man looks up at him with a little crease between his eyebrows. “Wider. And relax a little, jeez."

There’s a deep flush staining Michael’s cheeks but he frowns in earnest concentration, obviously trying to follow the instructions, and Adam moans out a laugh. “Yeah, just like that. Use your hands—” Adam tugs at his wrists and they rise obediently. “—use your fingers around the, yeah, like that. Mmm, _God_ yeah.”

The man’s eyes flutter closed as Adam’s hand settles at the back of his head, urging him on. He groans something guttural around the shaft and moves a little faster, ring of fingers slowly pumping around the base of Adam’s cock. Adam gets out, “Fuck, faster,” and they pick up speed.

Michael’s already down there, and he looks so fucking ecstatic about it that Adam can’t resist a few more pointers, a few more suggestions and throaty encouragement, so really it’s his own damn fault that he winds up with the headboard digging into his stomach, holding on for dear life while Michael tonguefucks his brains out. Desperate little noises are getting shocked out of him on every breath, and it’s fucking embarrassing but he can’t stop; he’s had trouble convincing even longterm boyfriends to do this, and Michael’s blowjobs might need work but he’s an asslicking _prodigy._

“Gonna,” he manages, arching back into a particularly deep thrust. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna—”

Michael’s response is a greedy, guttural sound and a thumb pushing in, pulling him open while his tongue works and tugs at the rim. “Can I—?” he asks, voice cracking.

“Yes, fucking yes, _fuck,”_ as Michael pulls him back, his knees wedged in between Adam’s and his dick barely meeting any resistance as it sinks home, just a smooth hot slide all the way down. It's like getting smacked in the head with a two-by-four. "Oh, fuck," Adam whines.

"I need—" Michael gasps, hips twitching up as his arms wrap tight around Adam's waist.

Adam's back bows and his arms grope blindly for Michael's head to drag him closer. The man buries his face in Adam's shoulder and gives another jerky thrust, and it forces a mangled "Yes!" from Adam's throat. "Just like that, yeah—"

It's graceless from this angle, more a filthy grind than anything like rhythm, but Adam's too keyed up to need much more and Michael— Michael is whispering the most obscenely ridiculous things in Adam's ear, telling him how gorgeous and perfect he is, how good he is at this, how amazing he feels inside, and it makes Adam squeeze his eyes shut in embarrassment and pant, "Shut the fuck _up_ ," but it also makes him come without a hand on him, all over his goddamn pillowcase. "A-ah!"

He's a gasping, shuddering mess, slumping back against Michael's body, and Michael breathes " _Adam_ ," into his hair, sounding wrecked and winded and awed.

"Just fucking _come_ already," Adam hisses, still quaking through the aftershocks, and Michael's arms tighten to the point of pain as he moans and does just that.

* * *

When Adam finally pushes Michael out the side door, the sun's high in the sky and there's a black towncar waiting at the foot of their short, weed-ridden brick driveway. It has diplomatic plates and blacked-out windows, and Adam eyes it suspiciously as Michael leans in close, arm braced on the doorframe next to Adam's head.

"Is there... can I see you again?" he says, low and hopeful, and Adam sighs and gives him one last kiss, a close-mouthed peck to the corner of his mouth.

"Fine, now—" Of _course_ Michael takes that as permission to attempt a tonsillectomy with his tongue, and Adam takes great pleasure in shoving the man backwards down the steps. He nearly ends up in the landlady's azaleas but he catches himself and _grins_ , the asshole.

"I'll call you tonight," he says sincerely, and God, just how desperate is this guy? But somehow it just makes Adam's cheeks warm and his eyes drop.

"Sure, whatever," he mutters, and Michael laughs. Douchebag.

Michael saunters down the sloping drive to the car, suitpants horribly rumpled, wrinkled shirt hanging loose around his waist and his jacket on his arm. They never did find his tie.

"But no school nights! I have class Monday through Thursday," Adam yells after him, and Michael shoots him a blinding smile and _blows him a fucking kiss_ before disappearing into the dim interior of the towncar. The engine starts and it pulls smoothly away from the curb, and Bela fucking Talbot comes jogging into view, slowing to watch it pass. Fuck, he'd been so _close_ to no one knowing.

The car disappears around a corner, and she turns and stares at him, eyebrows raised.

"What?" he asks belligerently.

"Adam, darling," she says in a strangely choked tone, "any particular reason Senator Angeles just left your house positively covered in hickeys?"

"... oh, fuck no," Adam says.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by that one dude in the elevator on Friday. Your backstory must be truly amazing, Elevator Dude.


End file.
